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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638145">Just One Yesterday</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyaneidae/pseuds/cyaneidae'>cyaneidae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hold Me Tight Or Don't [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Anesthesia, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Sick Fic, Surgery, There Is Only One Bed, as many tropes as i could fit in one fic, badass women in medicine because i am shameless, but it is 100 percent canon IRL, can't guarantee the medical stuff is 100 percent in SW canon, cursory use of wookiepedia, ish, ketamine and propofol are hella drugs, the medical installment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:06:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyaneidae/pseuds/cyaneidae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"...I had the weirdest dreams while I was asleep," he says.</p><p>"I know you did. While you were awake, too. I was in one of them," she says, her face looking lighter and decidedly more amused now.</p><p>"...were you? I can't remember that one."</p><p>"You..." and she pauses, clearly contemplating if she should continue with her train of thought. "You thought I was someone you cared deeply about. Which, clearly, was a strange dream for your brain to conjure up. Even if it was influenced by sedative medications."</p><p>Or: Armitage Hux Catches a Surgical -Itis And Has Crazy Post-Anesthesia Dreams<br/>Or or: prequel #2 (really ficlet #0.5 in the "Hold Me Tight Or Don't" chronological timeline)...or can be seen as a standalone fic, really</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, GingerRose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hold Me Tight Or Don't [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Just One Yesterday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leggies/gifts">Leggies</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This ficlet is for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/leggies/works">Leggies</a> (<a href="https://twitter.com/huxscakes">huxscakes</a> on twitter), as one of her gingerrose tweets lit a fire behind my anesthesia resident / writer ass and I couldn't help but write this. Tweet referenced will be linked in the end notes--don't read it first unless you want to be spoiled for the prompt.</p><p>Hope you enjoy, Sara! (even if it takes, um, a lot of words and accidental plot/background to get to the scene you described...)</p><p>(Title again by Fall Out Boy)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Armitage Hux does not get sick. He is too fastidious with his personal health and cleanliness to bow to such...common viral nonsense. And if he were, say, to get sick, he would<em> certainly</em> not mope around his quarters, writhing in pain. He would funnel his pain and miserableness into anger, stiffness, and power over his subordinates.</p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So when it’s been only a few weeks since he landed on the Resistance base (miraculously still not executed at this point, likely due to the First Order intel he’s been funneling them still) and he is suddenly vomiting his guts up into a bucket in the paltry excuse for a brig the Resistance has kept him in, Armitage Hux decides that it’s definitely because of something he ate. Moreover, this is most probably, <em>definitely</em>, a strategic move on the Resistance’s part to poison him and make it look like an accident.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And so he clutches his lower abdomen, attempts to bite back another grimace, and prepares for his inevitable slow death. Before vomiting into the bucket again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>She</em> sees him like this during her daily visit and promptly suggests taking him to the medbay. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Which, of course, he flatly refuses. (In between clenched teeth. And staring down at the floor from a crouch, because he may be miserable but he<em> isn’t</em> weak enough for everyone to see him laying on the floor in the fetal position, <em>kriff</em>.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s about to press him more, perhaps <em>drag</em> him there (and that absolutely <em>cannot </em>happen), so he forces himself to straighten up through the pain and answer her questions through gritted teeth. Because he’s perfectly fine, thank you very much, and can definitely continue <em>this </em>— their daily briefing — like usual.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This works. For all he knows, she may not believe him at all, but she somehow doesn’t drag him off the medbay to get checked out. Which is a huge win. For the first day, anyway. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So he refuses to eat, grimaces around the pain, hardly gets any sleep, and hopes his death will come quicker.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The second day is a little hazier. Also, at some unclear point he gives up his dignity and becomes a grudging acquaintance with the cool, relieving feel of the duracrete floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s not sure when she comes, or what time of day it even is (not that the darkness of his cell would help matters much), but at some indeterminate point, Armitage faintly hears <em>her </em>voice—Miss Rose Tico’s voice. There are words, sentences; he can’t make them all out through the haziness, but there’s something about, “—can’t believe I—” and, “idiot!” and, “kriffin’ <em>men</em>!” and, “won’t have you <em>die </em>before—” and “this is NOT what I—”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And then he suddenly finds himself blearily peering up at the sterile, awful, off-white ceiling that he assumes belongs to the medbay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That’s when instinct kicks in and he begins to <em>fight like hell.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe they <em>weren’t</em> trying to poison him before, but they certainly are <em>now</em> and he<em> isn’t</em> going to take it lying down, he isn’t going to <em>let </em>them, he’s a <em>survivor</em>—</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage vaguely feels arms trying to restrain him and his fist hitting what feels like a jaw before he suddenly experiences a <em>sharp</em> poke in his shoulder and <em>then</em>—</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>All goes black.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he wakes, he becomes quickly aware of three things:</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><ol>
<li>
<div>There’s an IV catheter in his right hand.</div>
</li>
<li>
<div>His hands and legs are each cuffed to the medbay stretcher.</div>
</li>
<li>
<div>Someone (who he intends to identify and destroy later) has forcibly removed <em>all</em> his clothing and replaced it with a terrible, awful, <em>short,</em> speckled patient gown.</div>
</li>
</ol><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They’re not only going to kill him, they’re going to humiliate him first. <em>Fantastic.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That’s when he notices the two other people nearby. Miss Tico is in a chair next to his bed, frowning at him and looking as furious as he feels, and...<em>and</em> some togruta medical staff member is sitting at a computer, relentlessly typing away, her orange lekku occasionally swaying.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The latter quickly realizes his return to consciousness, rising and stepping toward his bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage thinks of attempting to wriggle out of the cuffs, but figures it’s fruitless given that, apparently, they can knock him out <em>whenever</em> they like. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ah, are you quite done trying to escape, then?” This from the....he squints at her badge, trying to ascertain her name and position. Meanwhile, the woman in the chair next to him snorts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Dr. Allamac, to you, Mr. Hux. And you have quite a nasty case of appendicitis, by the way, which might even be perforated, so I would recommend you remain still and let us operate on you shortly. I’ll be your surgeon.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“If you’re going to kill me anyway, you might as well get it over with already,” he retorts back dryly. “You have even easier tools to do it with, now,” and he nods toward the IV in his hand. Blasted stupid, painful thing. In his dominant hand, too, of course. He’ll rip it out once he has the chance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why on Yavin would we kill you?” The surgeon looks amused, which is <em>ridiculous</em> and out of place and <em>when</em> will they just get it <em>over</em> with already?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Because I’m a traitor to the First Order and have long since outlived my usefulness as a spy. Because I ordered the destruction of billions and I would do it again. Take your pick.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We’re healers, Mr. Hux, not killers. No matter what our patients have done or are planning on doing in the future. If you would like to discuss options for your appendicitis, then...?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage would rather rip out his stupid appendix <em>himself </em>and leave blood all over this sterile floor as he escapes to freedom, thank you very much, but—</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Are there nonsurgical options? Where my chances of someone’s hand <em>slipping </em>are less?” he asks carefully, hoping the answer will be a yes.  Armitage has never left anything to chance and he doesn’t plan it on it now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Given that your case of appendicitis is rather advanced, as you didn’t seek care in the first 24 hours of symptoms, I would not recommend them...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But, <em>if </em>you would like to try it, and doing so with the knowledge that there is a rather<em> high</em> failure rate, I would tell you that you can take a course of antibiotics for this. And we can wait and see if you require an appendectomy anyway. Wouldn’t recommend it, though—”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“—give me the antibiotics.” And he looks fiercely between the surgeon and Miss Tico, daring one of them to fight him about this. He’ll take his chances with the antibiotics.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Rose just purses her lips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We’re going to end up back here in a week and I’m gonna have to drag your barely conscious ass again to do that. But sure, have it your way.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. That would be childish and he certainly isn’t a child anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His container of pills feels like freedom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>One week later, they are indeed back in the medbay. After he vomits up the entirety of his stomach again, then passes out from fatigue, because <em>of course</em>. He's also back in that dratted stupid patient gown, because the humiliation keeps coming!</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He can practically hear the off-white ceiling laughing at him. (Or maybe that's just the ghost of his father laughing at him, at how <em>weak</em> he is; his father, who is no more than a memory anymore but will never really leave him.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Miss Tico is in another chair next to his bedside, exhausted resignation written all over her face. With a big fat heaping of "<em>I-told-you-so</em>," as well, something that she doesn't miraculously say.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Would you like to entertain the surgical option, then?" Ah, the surgeon is back. Dr. Alla something. No matter, he'll--</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"If the staff are entirely droids, then I suppose I am inclined to very begrudgingly agree." He's never been the biggest fan of droids, really, but in this case, it's <em>essential</em>. Droids don't have feelings. Droids don't have emotional memories. Droids don't have dead family members.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"--which is also entirely out of the question," she says, a crease appearing between her brows. "The last time we used droids as staff in an operating room where the patient was formerly First Order...the results were....catastrophic."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He blinks at her. <em>What.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It turns out that one should not forget that droids are very capable of making clinical, detached decisions based on many precise and detailed calculations. And will decide how likely a person is to betray one again. And how many lives could be spared if one life was taken. Droids, you see, don't have human compassion, no matter how much...<em>personality.</em>..people sometimes impart into their circuits. They certainly haven't taken the oath <em>to do no harm</em>." And with that, the surgeon looks at the floor. Trying to hide, Armitage suspects, what suspiciously looks like shame. He can extrapolate from what she's said to take an educated guess on what happened previously (which he's very surprised she's honest enough to share with him).</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He <em>certainly</em> doesn't want that to happen to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I suppose I am open to humanoid staff, if neutral parties can be found..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"--and you'll be glad to hear that we exist!" The voice belongs to an energetic new party, another woman, this time human, clad in scrubs and head covered in matching scrub cap. Certainly younger than first.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And Armitage realizes with a start that he is <em>surrounded</em> by powerful women, which may work to his advantage or grave disadvantage. He can't decide which at the moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Dr. Waifor, your anesthesiologist," she says as she offers her hand. Armitage blinks at her, looking down at his <em>cuffed-to-each-other-this-time</em> wrists.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn't give him much time to make a decision either way, warmly shaking his hand before moving onto Rose.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And you must be--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"--his contact. Spy handler. Dragger of his ass to seek medical care," Miss Tico says with a roll of her eyes. Armitage feels the tip of his ears go red. She too shakes the doctor's hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Pleasure. And would you like to hear how things will go, Mr. Hux?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I suppose. How fast will I be asleep and able to forget this whole nightmare?" His sigh couldn't possibly louder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Once we start giving you medications in the operating room suite? Under a minute, really. No one lasts very long."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Good."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He will not remember much, if any, of this part later, but this is how things go:</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage is whisked away to an extremely cold, sterile room. It reminds him of the medbay, except even <em>more</em> sanitized, clean...and stark-white. The cleanliness is oddly comforting, somehow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They attach monitors, talking to him all the while. He closes his eyes and tries to tune things out. If these are his final moments, they are not the worst he could have ever imagined. Even if he <em>is</em> rather freezing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suddenly there is a plastic mask over his nose and mouth and it smells <em>terrible</em>. They are telling him to <em>breathe deeply now</em> and he feels <em>cold things </em>going through the tubing now connected to his right hand's IV. Then, <em>then</em> he feels a terrible <em>burning</em> in his veins and it feels like <em>he is on fire</em> and <em>why did he ever agree to this</em> and he starts <em>thrashing</em>, fighting for his <em>life</em> and then---</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>--everything goes black again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He won't know that they remove the cuffs the instant he becomes unconscious.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He won't know of the breathing tube that goes in next. Even though they warned him about this, too. Later on awakening he will complain of his throat being horribly scratchy and uncomfortable, though.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He won't see what the inside of his abdomen looks like. How it looks like a bomb went off in there. They will tell him this later, though.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He won't know how long it takes for them to make heads or tails of the chaos. How they debate the best course of action. How they wash the space out again and again. There is no discernible appendix to find and take out, in the end.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He is asleep and he does not dream and it is the best sleep he's gotten in <em>years</em>, though he will not know it or be able to replicate it.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then, <em>then</em> he wakes up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Groggy as hell and in the recovery part of the medbay, of course, because he can't kriffin' escape the stupid place. <em>Blergh</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then he spots Miss Tico in a chair next to his bed--because that seems to have become a habit of hers lately. Just like the habit of<em> his</em> to be trapped in this awful, horrible place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This time, though, she's asleep, blessedly...and <em>snoring</em>. (It <em>isn't</em> cute. <em>He swears it isn't</em>.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tries to turn to see her better, only to stretch his recently besieged abdominal muscles and <em>kriff</em>, that <em>hurt!</em> Armitage lets out a quiet groan and takes a few deep breaths through his nose as the ache abates.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The noise seems to have woken her, though.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I....oh! you're finally awake!" Rose says, blinking quickly and stretching with her arms. This <em>also</em> is not something to examine too closely or think about. So....he doesn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes, and in a world of <em>pain</em>, what on Yavin did they do to me??"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It turns out you being a galactic idiot and not letting me take you to the medbay sooner made your appendix explode or something. Perforated, I think they said. The surgeon mentioned you may get an abscess in a week, too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Fantastic. <em>Just </em>what I asked for." He sighs deeply, then attempts to tame down his hair with one hand before realizing his hands are cuffed again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Are they <em>ever</em> going to decide to either execute me or let me go? Being a prisoner in limbo is exhausting, frankly," he tells her pointedly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Rose looks down at the cuffs, something crossing her face that could, perhaps, in the most optimistic world, be <em>disdain</em>. But that wouldn't be right, of course. Unless she's feeling it towards <em>him.</em> This isn't an optimistic world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She looks back up at him. Bites her lip.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm working on it, trust me. It'll just take a little time; they're slow at making decisions about those formerly from the First Order. But the fact that they didn't let you die during <em>this </em>is a good sign, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Because between the Resistance giving me a dangerous combination of drugs to sedate me and my appendix exploding, I'm doing <em>so</em> <em>well</em> on the health front lately."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, shut up." And she <em>blushes</em>, which definitely is....something. <em>Not</em> a cute something. Definitely not.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Just give me more of that burning hellfire medication and I will."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She <em>laughs</em>, then, and a small, rarely acknowledged part of him stores the sound away for later. (He just might want to be the reason she makes that sound again in the future. Many times again, if he can wrangle it. Maybe.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His lips quirk up into something like a smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This might not be the worst way to die, after all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Rose visits him every day that he is stuck in the medbay, recovering from his surgery. She says it is so he can't use this as an excuse to get out of their daily information sessions...and he believes her. (A very tiny part of him might wish that she was there for <em>other</em> reasons. A <em>very </em>tiny part of himself that he feels ashamed of and swats away, of course.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's there as he gets stronger. By the end of the second day he's able to get out of bed to a chair, then by the third to walk around the unit, then by the sixth to take <em>multiple</em> fast-paced laps.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For some strange, unforeseen to him reason, she offers her arm during these sessions. She helps him out however she can each time. Armitage learns not to refuse her after the first time she offered (when he fell on his ass trying to get to the chair without her assistance). Even if accepting feels shameful and makes a heated blush spread down from his ears to his collarbone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They then start occasionally talking about things<em> other</em> than First Order intel. It is strange but relieving. When she makes him laugh the first time, for <em>real</em>, his abdomen (and all its stitches) <em>aches</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He estimates he has only been a week there between all his healing ups and downs (<em>certainly </em>he wanted to escape the horrible place days sooner), but it feels like much<em> longer</em> in his boredom when he's alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It comes to him one day. <em>He misses her</em>. Even if he sees her every day. Which is <em>absurd</em>...but still true. The parts of the day she's not there...it's certainly much drabber and more boring where he sits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This revelation sits heavy in his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage suddenly wants to escape back to the cell with all its darkness and where he can remind the both of them he is an irredeemable monster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He is just about to escape the horrific medbay, finally back in <em>real clothes</em>, when it hits him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Horrific pain. Suddenly getting lightheaded. And feeling hot, <em>very</em> hot.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage sways where he stands for just a moment. If only the room would stop spinning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He vaguely feels Rose's arms supporting him and her helping him sit down again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm alright," he says, weakly. Pitifully, really, but trying very hard not to be. "Just give me a minute and we'll be able to keep walking. Just a touch tired."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Armitage Hux, you are <em>not </em>going anywhere until a doctor sees you again! You look like shit. You're as pale as a ghost and look like you're about to vomit on my shoes. We're going to figure this out, here, <em>now</em>, because I am <em>not </em>dragging your ass back here a third time!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He blearily looks at her. Rose is fierce and indigent and he <em>really </em>does not have the energy in him any more to fight her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...fine," he says wearily. "Just knock me out and fix whatever's broken this time around. Stars knows it's a very long list of things."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He does not hear her ridiculous laugh-sob, because he's already passed out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It turns out that the surgeon was right yet again, because he ends up having a large intra-abdominal abscess needing drainage. Right where his appendix used to be. Because his appendix, his body, couldn't <em>possibly</em> be more spiteful. (Or rather, the pissed off bacteria inside his body, anyway.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage halfheartedly listens as a new doctor explains the next procedure he'll have to undergo. Something something <em>drain </em>something something<em> deep sedation </em>something something <em>antibiotics</em> something something<em> flush it</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When it's time, they connect his new IV to tubing again and push cold medications through it <em>again.</em>..but they cover his face in a different mask this time, a lighter one, and tell him to pick out a good dream. It is ridiculous and <em>weird</em> but <em>sure</em>--</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>--and then he is out again, meeting blackness for the fifth time in a little over week. Which is way too many times for someone as...<em>well.</em>..perhaps he <em>isn't </em>as strong as he thinks he is...</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>...and he is suddenly having the most <em>vivid</em> dreams. Memories? Dreams? Dream-memories?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sees his mother baking in the kitchen as he sits atop a countertop and nibbles on raw dough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sees his father towering over him from his vantage place on the floor. He cowers. He is a child.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sees his mother again, this time running through an empty base. She is calling for someone and he can't make it out but she <em>might</em> just be calling for---</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then he wakes up again. Or at least, it <em>feels </em>like he wakes up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Why, then, does he still see his mother? The woman sitting next to his bed certainly looks like her, anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage squints, trying to focus on her face...though everything is blurry and many things are in double. He reaches out a hand towards her hand, trying to grasp it, trying to prove to himself that she's <em>real</em> and she's <em>here</em>, just when he <em>needs</em> her and--</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Things <em>shift </em>and he feels like a child again, trying to reach for her in the dark and failing and <em>falling</em> and---</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Mother--mother, <em>please</em>, don't let him take me," he pleads, still trying to grab her hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then she leans toward him and he takes advantage of the closeness to try his so very hardest to focus on her face (but it's blurry, it's so <em>very</em> blurry and he can't tell if her hair is reddish-brown or brownish-red...or some other color entirely). She reaches out with <em>her</em> hand and it is <em>so very warm </em>in his. She squeezes his hand gently.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...it's okay, Armitage. I know.<em> I know</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. <em>I'm sorry</em>--" and he weeps, great<em> ugly</em> sobs. In this moment, just for a few minutes, he is a child again, missing his mother. <em>Whose face he can't even remember</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Between his tears and how blurry his vision was to begin with, he misses how stricken the woman's expression becomes. He also misses how her own eyes begin to fill with tears. He misses how her hair isn't the bright red-orange of his mother's, but a dark, pitch <em>black.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He does not, however, miss how <em>perfect</em> her hand fits in his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage squeezes her hand back and lays back on the bed, quietly sniffling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He falls into a real sleep quickly, before he even realizes it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>----</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>This </em>time when he wakes, he knows it is for real.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For one, his vision is perfectly clear. For another, he becomes acutely acquainted with the fact that he has <em>strange plastic tubing </em>coming out of his lower abdomen, <em>what the kriffing hell</em>?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He has hardly started to stiffen and reach his arm down to feel at the foreign material when he hears a sleepy voice next to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes, you now have a drain in place to shrink the abscess, and <em>no</em>, it's not going to go away anytime soon, and <em>yes</em>, if you pull it out, I will <em>personally </em>shove it back in there myself, anesthesia or no anesthesia," Rose tells him from her--now very habitual--chair next to his bedside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage turns to look at her, really look at her, and notices that the dark circles under her eyes have gotten larger since he last saw her and there is a crease between her brows that he'd really love to smooth out (with a <em>kiss</em>, his most traitorous inner self adds). He wants to ask if she, perhaps, maybe, <em>worried about him</em>, and if she did, in fact, maybe, <em>perhaps</em>, worry a <em>tiny</em> small bit about him, <em>she shouldn't have</em>. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve any of the minutest help or care she shows him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I had the weirdest dreams while I was asleep," he says instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know you did. While you were awake, too. I was in one of them," she says, face looking lighter and decidedly more amused now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...were you? I can't remember that one."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You..." and she pauses, clearly contemplating if she should continue with her train of thought. "You thought I was someone you cared deeply about. Which, clearly, was a strange dream for your brain to conjure up. Even if it <em>was</em> influenced by sedative medications."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage suddenly remembers in vivid clarity <em>which</em> dream she's describing. <em>Oh.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He is tempted to chuckle awkwardly, follow along with her game of pretend, <em>joke </em>about their relationship. It would be easier for the both of them to pretend that there's nothing there but medications and ridiculous dreams of his. It would be easier to keep the professional relationship they have maintained so far. The one with boundaries and titles. Blatantly ignoring the wealth of banter and warmth underneath it all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But he's not so sure he wants to ignore <em>this</em>--whatever this <em>is</em>--anymore. Maybe it's still the medications thinking for him. If what happens next backfires on him, they'll be what he inevitably blames, anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There are many things he can think to say to her, but what comes out is this:</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You <em>are </em>someone I care about," he tells her bluntly. "Even if I thought you were someone else for a moment." Maybe brutal honesty will get him farther than lies. Even if it feels like drowning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She makes a sudden movement and it takes Armitage a moment to get his bearings. He then realizes she's <em>jumped into the bed with him</em> and is now <em>hugging him</em> <em>tightly</em>. The exhale he'd been holding in gets let out in a strangled gasp. His still-weak abdominal muscles protest at the contact.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>"Ouch! </em>That <em>hurt</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hush, you'll be okay. Honestly, you're <em>such</em> a stubborn idiot, sometimes...but I care about you too. Next time we're going to the medbay the<em> first </em>day, Armitage."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Of course, Rose."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Also, I've got all the supplies to flush that new drain of yours and was the only one of the two of us <em>awake</em> enough to listen to the instructions on <em>how</em>--so listen up, I'm about to teach you how to unclog that thing!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Must we do that<em> now</em>, really? I'm still exhausted. Can I maybe...sleep first?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Sure." And she <em>chuckles</em>, then shifts and moves her arms into a more comfortable position. A sleeping position, if he were to hazard a guess. Which is <em>quite</em> a strange idea, the reasons against it numerous--not the least of which being that the bed hardly fits his tall, lanky frame alone. With the<em> two</em> of them in it now, it's very much rather cramped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He realizes vaguely that he doesn't have cuffs around his hands anymore. He wonders when<em> those</em> came off. He wonders if this means he'll finally get his own quarters when he escapes the medbay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes, we can sleep first," Rose continues, moving even<em> more</em> into his space. And then she pulls the blanket over the both of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Armitage is too tired to protest. All of his thoughts like <em>I don't know where to put my hands </em>and <em>is that her chest against mine</em> and <em>stars, her feet are like ice </em>all go the same way as his annoyance over the drain: into the gaping void of deep, peaceful slumber.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They each sleep quietly for the first time in nearly two weeks. He doesn't have any nightmares.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And he most certainly is<em> not</em> sick. At least, not with a virus. Other parts of his body, though? They might have been taken over by something entirely more pleasant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He can live with that.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The tweet that inspired this fic is <a href="https://twitter.com/huxscakes/status/1224848076956790786?s=20">here</a>.</p><p>For those not on twitter, her tweet: "hux being knocked out under anesthesia mistaking rose for his mom because nobody's ever mothered him in his life........ reaching for her hand........... its fucking depressed hours folks"</p><p>I also referenced <a href="https://twitter.com/girl_among_Mts/status/1224848582928257024?s=20">this tweet</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/girl_among_Mts/status/1224849645425180672?s=20">this tweet</a>, both by <a href="https://twitter.com/girl_among_Mts">girl_among_Mts</a> on twitter, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfMaidenOfLight/pseuds/ElfMaidenOfLight">ElfMaidenOfLight</a> here on AO3! Love y'all.</p><p> </p><p>Detailed-ish medical notes, bc I am a Nerd (as an anesthesia/former surgery resident):</p><p>1. propofol burns like hell in your IV right before you go off to sleep. Can't say I've experienced this (yet), personally, but almost every single patient HATES this part and complains loudly...right before we knock 'em out, oops.</p><p>2. ketamine gives you WILD ASS dreams. And is used for some anesthesia deep sedation cases. I had them use it for the IR (interventional radiology) procedure where he got the drain. In reality, we would more likely use propofol for deep sedation (this is what's used for colonoscopies!), but that doesn't give you weird dreams, so.../shrugs/</p><p>3. if u ignore appendicitis for &gt;24hrs, it is more likely your appendix will rupture, which is then called 'perforated appendicitis'. ~1/3 of those with perforated appendicitis *then* get an abscess that has to be drained ~1 week later, bc appendiceal bacteria are petty bitches. I saw this a LOT on my pediatric surgery rotation and it's, um, not pleasant. The kids were in the hospital for &gt;3 days for perforated appendicitis, sometimes more &gt;1 week when they then had an abscess.</p><p>It's basically a complication (abscess) of a complication (perforated appendicitis). (i gave it all to hux bc muse is a cruel mistress, apparently...and i needed it for plot reasons)</p><p> </p><p>Come find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/amethyststeam">twitter</a> and <a href="https://thestolenrelic.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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